The Courtesan
by HeartsIgnite
Summary: Pansy Parkinson is a whore. At least by society's standards. Harry/Pansy. One-shot. Not fluffy. Originally written for the 2008 pphpficexchange at LiveJournal; gift for yinepu.


**Gift for:** **yinepu** at LiveJournal. Originally written for the **pphpficexchange,** 2008 round. Awarded: Best Snark and Best Smut  
**Title:** The Courtesan  
**Author's Name: heartsignite**  
**Rating:** R  
**Warnings:** Language, innuendo, oral  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or any characters/settings/etc. related to him. J.K. Rowling has that claim.  
**Beta's name:** InuGrrrl  
**Author's Note:** Thank you SO MUCH, Nee-chan, for your help with this. I love you thiiiis much! *spreads arms wider than she really can* Yinepu, I hope you enjoy this. =) Happy reading!

**Summary:** Pansy Parkinson is a whore. At least by society's standards.

* * *

**The Courtesan**

To say Pansy was surprised to see _him_ walking past her—in this neighborhood, of all places—would be an understatement of the greatest sort. However, she did quite a spectacular job of hiding her shock. She also did not need to call attention to herself; the look on his face clearly said that he'd noticed her. He froze in mid-step, about ten feet away from her. He looked as though he wanted to run and hide, but couldn't make himself move.

Stifling a grin, she gave him a cordial nod. "Harry Potter. Fancy meeting you here."

Harry audibly cleared his throat. "Parkinson. Uh…hi." His eyes glanced her up and down, taking in her indecently clothed body and made up face. "It's almost midnight. What the hell are you doing out here?"

"You can't tell? This is my station. I usually…initiate business dealings here."

He gave a slow nod as comprehension dawned. "I see. So, erm, are you waiting for a…a client? Because I could just leave if you need the privacy…" His voice trailed off, his discomfort obvious.

Pansy couldn't hide her grin this time. Keeping her eyes on him, she made her way to the wooden crates directly in front of him. He followed her every move. "So tell me, Potter," she quipped, ignoring his question. "What are you doing here?" She took a pale pink handkerchief out of her clutch purse and proceeded to wipe down the crate with it before seating herself daintily.

Harry watched her with amusement. Even as a two-cent whore, she was still as prissy as ever. "I'm on my way home from work. This is the short route."

"Ah, I see. Bit dark and scary, though, this route. We wouldn't want everyone's favorite hero to get hurt, now, would we?" Giving him a saccharine smile, she leaned back, propping herself up on one arm and crossing her legs, making the short skirt she wore ride even higher up her smooth thighs.

The newly bared skin distracted him for a moment. Apparently Pansy didn't wear robes while on the job. Easier access, Harry reasoned. She had to advertise herself, of course. And those clothes on that body were definitely a walking advertisement.

"We both know that 'everyone's favorite hero' can take care of himself." Distracting though she was, Harry didn't appreciate the jibes to his dueling ability. He'd won the war, after all.

She smirked up at him. "Of course you can. But not all predators want to kill you, Potter."

He stiffened visibly, but couldn't seem to think a response. Instead, he forced his gaze away from her and began to walk past her. He couldn't recall why he'd stopped to acknowledge her in the first place.

"Aw, leaving already? But we've just now started talking." Her voice practically dripped with false sweetness, and for a second, Pansy wondered why she even attempted to stop him.

He did stop, though.

"I'd hardly call what we're doing 'talking', Parkinson."

She arched a delicate eyebrow. "Well, your mouth is moving and words are coming out. Most people would consider that talking."

He tensed yet again, and she was met with silence.

The woman heaved a sigh. "Really, Potter," she griped. "You're the most monotonous man I've ever met. Have you no backbone? Turn around and look at me for Christ's sake." She flipped her hair with a scoff. "Normal people usually retort when they're being spat at."

"What the hell is your problem, Parkinson?" He whirled around to face her, rising anger and annoyance written on his face.

Finally she was getting somewhere. "Problem, Potter?" she echoed. "I have no problem. I merely wanted a conversation."

"Well, I'm sure you can find it elsewhere. I have a home and a girlfriend to get back to. Good night."

Pansy watched him silently for a moment, his words hitting some buried place within her. She didn't notice his inability to leave.

"Is it nice?" she asked quietly. "Having someone to come home to?" For once, her voice held no trace of cruelty, and it was that, rather than her words, that made Harry pause.

He took a few steps closer, regarding her carefully for the first time in a long while. "Yeah. It's nice. Certainly nicer than going home with different men every day and night."

His insinuation was not lost on her.

Pansy's eyes narrowed. "Whom I go home with is none of your concern. And, for your information, having a different man every night has its appeal. At least the variety keeps it from getting boring, which I'm sure is more than I can say for you, Potter."

He snorted. "I would hardly call Ginny Weasley boring."

"The She-Weasel?" Pansy gave a loud bark of laughter. "You're joking, right? I thought you'd have dumped her on her bum once we got out of Hogwarts."

Harry gave her a hard stare. "Assuming like always, Pansy," he chided. "And yes, I'm still with Ginny. We're getting married in six weeks."

For the first time, Pansy noticed the ring glinting on his left hand. She couldn't explain the sudden drop in the pit of her stomach, but she decided to ignore it.

"I see. I suppose congratulations are in order then." She smiled sardonically up at him. "How would you like yours, Potter? Front, back, or mouth?" The widening of his eyes pleased her to no end. "Or perhaps you're the kinkier type and want it between my tits."

Immediately a rosy red flush bloomed across his cheeks and crept down his neck. "_What_?!" he exclaimed, shocked. "What the bloody hell are you trying to say?"

Pansy threw him a bemused look. "What do you think I'm saying?"

"You're offering me _sex_?!"

She had to laugh at his prudish reaction. "What did you expect, Potter? A singing card?" She gestured toward her body. "As you should have already observed, I'm a courtesan. It's what I do."

He just stared at her. "Courtesan." He spat the word out with more disbelief than disdain. "Is that what you call it?"

"Well, it sounds better than 'whore' or any of the other names I've been dubbed. The other women are 'prostitutes' and 'whores,' 'scarlet women' and 'hussies.' I'm a courtesan. Has a bit of a refined tone to it, doesn't it?"

He grew more and more perplexed with each word. Why would she care? "If that's what helps you sleep at night."

A corner of her lip curled upward. "It does, actually," she admitted. "That's what they called them in the olden days, you know. They were called courtesans." Her expression turned wistful. "I imagine they weren't really treated like whores, though. Some were really upper-class and could sing and dance. Their masters gave them luxury in return for their companionship. It wasn't just sex with them." She focused on Harry once again, finding him staring at her with an unreadable expression on his face. "Did you know that, Potter? If I had lived four hundred years earlier, you might not have walked away from me a few minutes ago."

Harry stood watching quietly for a moment. "How do you know all that?"

She shot him a exasperated look. "I did learn how to read, you know."

"Perhaps, but I'm surprised you remember that much detail."

"Yes, well, I find history more interesting than the average novel."

She turned her head away, and Harry realized that she was done sharing her knowledge of the history of prostitution. But it was enough to make him realize that he'd never really seen her before. Not a bit, not in all the years he'd known her.

The revelation was enough to make him want to know more. He didn't bother asking himself why.

Harry stepped closer until he was right next to her crate. He leaned against the wall, staring at her with an intrigued expression on his face. "What else do you find interesting, Pansy?"

Her eyebrow rose for the second time that night. "On a first name basis now, are we?"

He faltered. "Parkinson, I mean."

She suppressed a smile, not questioning why she even wanted to smile in the first place. "I find a lot of things interesting, Potter. Things you couldn't even begin to imagine."

"For example?"

Pansy stayed quiet for a moment, debating whether or not bluntness was a good idea. Her eyes wandered over his fit body, and she made her decision. "At the moment…you."

He jerked, not expecting the obvious come on. "Erm…okay..." He stared at her stupidly for a moment.

"I'd be a liar if I said I don't find you immensely attractive, Potter, so you're definitely on my list of interesting things."

Harry gave a small choking noise, and his staring turned to blinking. "Uh...thank you, I think."

Inwardly, Pansy laughed. Who would have thought that Harry Potter would be so _clumsy_ when it came to women? It was enough to make her question how he'd been voted Witch Weekly's Most Desirable every year since he'd turned eighteen. Surely the famous Potter was more suave than this.

She told him so.

"I'm surprised, Potter," she taunted. "As one of the most desired men in Wizarding England, I thought you'd be more debonair than this." Her head cocked to the side, and an amused grin played upon her lips. "But you're as gawky as Longbottom was back at school."

The discomfort left Harry's face, and his eyes narrowed at the insult. "I'm sorry to be such a disappointment."

She chuckled at his ire. "It's not a turn-off, really. Not on you, at least. Just not what I expected."

"And what exactly did you expect?"

"I told you already. Debonair. Suave. Sensual. Even an only-slightly-experienced approach would pass."

The man snorted derisively. "As I said before, you assume too much. I would hardly call myself experienced." As soon as the words left his mouth, he paused, realizing what he'd just admitted.

"Really?" Pansy stared at him calculatingly, suddenly understanding why he'd acted like an awkward teenager before. "You're inexperienced? As in, you're a virgin?"

His silence was enough of an answer.

Pansy gave a shrill, delighted laugh. "You're a _virgin_! That's rich, Potter! And here I thought you'd been voted Most Desirable for performance reasons."

Affronted and embarrassed, Harry turned away from her, unable to respond to her jeering.

"So exactly how much of a virgin are you?" she wanted to know. "Have you never orgasmed? Been blowed? Or is it just the penetration that you've not done?"

Harry couldn't ignore her any longer. "Is it that important, Parkinson? Who the hell cares?!"

"Your future wife probably will, you inconsiderate arse. Your inexperience will make her wedding night horrible!"

"My future wife is the reason I'm in this bloody situation in the first place!"

Pansy froze. "What?"

With an aggravated sigh, Harry ran a hand through his messy locks, clearly uncomfortable with the turn their conversation had taken. "Ginny…she believes in waiting till marriage. We've done nothing more than heavy petting. She asked me to wait, and I agreed."

For a moment, Pansy couldn't think of anything to say. "I see," she finally said. "That's rather…unfortunate."

A sneer was her response.

"Potter, your loyalty to her is really quite astounding, but you must be going clinically insane." She stared at him as though she were seeing him for the first time. "You're a man. A twenty-one-year-old, constantly randy _man_. How on earth do you manage?"

He seemed insulted again. "First off, I am not constantly randy. And secondly, there's something called masturbation. It takes the edge off."

Pansy quieted for a moment, digesting his words. When she spoke again, her eyes glittered with mischief. "So you're a wanker in the literal sense, are you?" She stood up off the crate and started toward him, not missing the sudden stiffening of his body as she moved closer. "How often do you fuck your hand, Potter? Once a week? Twice? Or perhaps you're the daily sort."

His tension was palpable, and he tried to back away from her only to find himself pressed flat against the wall. Thankfully, she stopped a few feet away from him. "As often as it takes," he admitted.

"Must be lonely, I'm sure."

"Not any lonelier than your shags, Parkinson."

She didn't register his meaning. "My shags are everything but lonely. It's not possible to be lonely when you've got anywhere between one and three bodies warming your bed every night."

"You don't know the meaning of lonely then."

Pansy frowned, annoyed at how the conversation was now turning toward her job instead of Harry's masturbatory tendencies. "This isn't about me, Potter. Stop trying to psychoanalyze me when you know shite about me."

"You mean like you're trying to do to me?"

"I'm not trying to understand anything about you!"

"Then what are you trying to do, Parkinson?!"

"I'm trying to shag you, you twit! Just like I've been trying to do since you walked up to me earlier!"

Harry stopped looking so livid for a moment and a mixture of confusion and shock crossed his face.

Pansy was so aggravated that she simply crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't be daft. I made it ridiculously obvious."

"I had hoped I was reading too much into things." Harry sighed and looked away. "You've got to be effing bipolar or something. One second you're insulting me, and the next you're trying to seduce me? Come off it, Pans."

The name made her smile just slightly. "Ah, so we've progressed to nicknames now, have we?"

Harry colored a little, but turned back to meet her gaze. He shrugged silently, not bothering to correct himself.

Pleased, Pansy sauntered closer. "Alright then, so I suppose this means I get to call you Harry now, is that it?"

When he didn't answer, she got right in his face, her breasts nearly touching his chest. She felt his body tense and his breath hitch as she got close, and her heart skipped in response. She ignored the questions her brain was firing; act now, think later, she reminded herself. It was a clause she lived by.

"Harry, then. Am I making you nervous, Harry?"

Sounding odd and strained, the wizard chuckled. "You know you are." His admission was soft, and his eyes darted away from her face and toward the street as she moved even closer. He couldn't bring himself to push her away.

Pansy smiled mischievously. She was almost pressing against him now, and his body heat seemed to be seeping into her cores, making the already humid night even hotter. She laid a hand gently against his chest, feeling his muscles jump beneath the robes and skin. "Good. That means seducing you will be easier."

He rolled his eyes, refusing to acknowledge the sudden increase of his heartbeat. "I'm not having sex with you, Pansy. I'm _happily_ engaged."

"But so sexually frustrated." Her hand drifted to his upper arm, squeezing the firm muscles there. "I can help out there you know. I'll even give you a discount."

"I'm _not_ shagging you."

"You're not pushing me away, either." To prove her point, Pansy pressed herself flush against him, her eyes never leaving his. She then placed both of her hands on his hips and closed the remaining distance. His gasp was gratifying. "See?"

Harry was battling with himself. His body couldn't ignore her advances, and the erection straining within his trousers proved it. He bit his lip. Hard. "This needs to stop, Pansy. I have a fiancée waiting for me at home. I promised my virginity to her."

"Then perhaps you should let me go."

He looked at her in confusion. "Let you go?"

Pansy looked down pointedly, and Harry saw that his arms had involuntarily—and apparently, without his knowledge—wrapped themselves around her bare waist. With a muttered curse, he released her. But she didn't step back.

Instead, she cradled his face and brought him closer. His eyes widened as she softly kissed his lips. Without giving him a chance to react, she pulled away. "She can have your virginity. I want a memory."

She kissed him again, and this time, he responded. He was timid, and a tad reluctant, but for some reason, he was giving in. At the moment, neither was sorry he did. Pansy ran her tongue lightly across his bottom lip. He opened for her, and their kisses intensified. His hands rose to cup her bum cautiously, as though he were worried that she'd push him away. She didn't.

After a few moments, Harry broke their kiss. He stared down at the courtesan pressed against him. Her lips were swollen, her cheeks slightly flushed, and for the first time since he'd known her, she was looking at him with a softness in her eyes. She looked lovely to him. He opened his mouth to say so, but she shook her head and laid a finger against his lips.

"We're not going to think about what we're doing, Harry. We're just going to do it."

Again, she cut off any response with a kiss. Her lips moved across his cheek and jaw, feeling the hints of stubble there. Her lips trailed back toward his ear and down his neck where she bit him teasingly. She wanted to mark him, but knew that Ginny would undoubtedly see. She didn't want to be the reason for his spoiled relationship. Still, as she'd told him, she wanted a memory, and she would try her damndest to make one.

Pansy kneeled before him and nuzzled the bulge in the front of his pants, staring up at him to make sure he understood her intentions. The look on his face told her he did…

…and he wasn't about to stop her.

He couldn't bring himself to. Some small part of him felt guilty, like he was betraying Ginny by allowing—_wanting_—Pansy to do this. But the last thing he would consider was making her stop. She looked too perfect there, kneeling before him. Like she belonged there.

He wasn't about to analyze _that_ thought, either.

Without further delay, Pansy reached within his robes and spread them apart, clearing the way to his belt buckle. She unlatched his belt, unzipped his trousers, and pulled out his cock, loving the way it throbbed gently in her hands.

But she loved his quiet moan more.

Since he was fully erect, she wasted no time. She took the tip into her mouth and delighted in the way he tried to hold back a whimper. He failed when she took him deeper.

Their exchange was swift. Pansy worked his manhood expertly, mercilessly, until the sounds of his torrid groans filled the dark street. Harry jerked and bucked, his hips losing themselves in the deep and gratifying rhythm she had set.

"P-Pans," he gasped as he rocked in and out, reaching the back of her throat. The wizard was close to completion, seconds to bliss...

Arching like a bridge, there was no warning when he filled her mouth, nor was there a rejection of his essence; like a true courtesan, she swallowed every drop.

When it was over, Harry's head fell against the stone wall as he tried to catch his breath, never really noticing that Pansy had cared enough to clean him with her tongue before tucking him back inside his trousers.

Pansy stood and walked away from her one-time lover, retrieving the purse she had left on the crates. Rifling through it, she retrieved her compact and checked her face, making sure no trace of his pleasure was left. Her eyes rose above her reflection to regard her old schoolmate; Harry was too caught up in the afterglow to realize that she had walked away.

Hiding her amusement, she approached him again and tenderly kissed him on the cheek, realizing it was the last kiss she would ever give him.

Harry snapped out of his haze at her lip's touch. "Pansy?" He looked at her questioningly, expecting her to say something. There was nothing for her to say. "Um…that was…you were…." He stumbled, realizing how awkward the situation had become—how it had been so from the beginning. "Thank you. I…um. Well. Thank you."

"There's no need for thanks." She gave him a small smirk as she turned away and walked back to the corner of the street. Her station.

Harry watched her silently, knowing there was still something more that he wanted to say. He felt he should at least try.

"Listen, Pans, I know you're probably making a fair amount of money working this way, but you…you're worth more than this." He hoped beyond hope that she wouldn't think he was spouting rubbish. "I could help you if you want. I could help you get a decent job and a decent flat. Secretly. No one would ever have to know. You don't need to be a—"

She gave him a look that shut him up.

For a few minutes, they stared at each other in silence, looking as though they were trying to read each other's minds. When Pansy finally spoke, her voice was cold once again. "Why are you still here, Potter? I already got what I wanted. Go home to your fiancée."

Harry didn't know what to say. Now that she had reverted back to her usual contemptuous self, he realized what they'd just done. Guilt consumed him. Ginny was waiting for him; she had been waiting for him for hours now. And he'd been…

Abruptly, he sprang away from the wall and straightened his robes. This had been a mistake, he knew. He was disgusted with himself. He spared the whore one last glance before walking wordlessly, determinedly, toward his flat.

Pansy watched him leave, a small, sad smile playing at her lips. She felt a tad remorseful for using him, but she'd gotten what she wanted: A memory. And for that, some guilt was worth it.

_Goodbye, Pansy Parkinson._

_Goodbye, Harry Potter._

**Parting Notes:** Alright…so this was exceedingly hard to write. I hope you all enjoyed it though! =) Thanks for reading!

**Prompt:** Pansy has been forced into prostitution after her family is killed in the war. She's too proud to let anyone help her. Harry is still a virgin. They bump into each other on a dark street. Awkward solicitation ensues, sex unnecessary. Snark by Pansy, please! Maybe some fellatio against a wall. Up to the author though. Up to R.


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